R' is for Riddle
by Purefaeries
Summary: It's 1888, and things in Victorian London aren't running as smoothly as they could be. A mysterious killer is on the loose, and when a loved one of the prestigious Ginevra Weasley is targeted, she finds herself trapped in the heart of the mystery. Tom/Ginny, AU-heavy


**A.N:** This is co-written by Screaming-Faeries  & pureblcods, and will be AU heavy throughout. Muggle!AU, VictorianLondon!AU, and not to mention the Weasley's are the opposite of poor!

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 ** _Chapter One  
'R' is for Rising_**

* * *

Ginevra stared apathetically at the mirror, looking at the girl with creamy skin and fiery auburn hair reflected in its shiny surface.

The brush drew long, uneven strokes down her back, Dora's hand guiding the ceramic hairbrush through her lengthy hair. "You have such lovely hair, Madame," Dora said wistfully. "Just like Queen Elizabeth."

"Thank you, Dora." Ginevra replied to her maid. It wasn't uncommon for people to point out her similarities with Queen Elizabeth the First, who had reigned centuries before Ginevra was even born. "Great Aunt Muriel likes to speculate that we are indeed related to the royal family," she added with a stifled laugh. "Though I doubt how much truth is in that statement."

"Oh, you'd make a wonderful Queen, Miss."

"Flattery will get you _everywhere_ , Dora," Ginevra smiled at her maid in the reflection. While they weren't around Ginny's parents and older brothers, she could get on easily with Nymphadora Tonks. She had been Ginny's personal maid ever since she was set on to work when she was twelve.

Her father had insisted that Ginny wasn't to be friendly with Dora, as her mother was disowned from the prestigious Black family a very long time ago. But Ginevra found it difficult. Dora made her laugh, and she had been there for her during the tears, tantrums and heartbreaks that she had been forced to suffer throughout her journey of adolescence into adulthood.

She found herself quite defensive and protective of Dora, which led her to worry about what they conversed about next.

"How is your mother?" Ginevra asked, dropping her voice. She didn't want to risk her own mother or father hearing her ask about Andromeda.

Dora sighed sadly. "Not well at all, Miss. I don't think she has long left, I'll be honest."

"Oh dear. What are you you planning to do?"

"I have no choice. We need money for medicine and so the doctor will come out and see her. Daddy and I have already spoken about it...I'll have to…" her voice trailed off and she brushed a little too far down Ginny's back, so that the bristles rubbed against the bare skin of her shoulder blades.

Ginevra whipped around in her seat so fast that she slashed her red hair over Dora's face. "Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "There have been girls from Whitechapel who have been _murdered_ doing that!"

"I know, Miss. But it's good money."

"It isn't honest money. I forbid you to go to the streets, Dora! I forbid it."

"Respectfully saying, Miss, but—"

 _Triiing!_

"I understand the position you are in, Dora, but you do not need to stoop to such a level. I shall increase your wages, and then—"

 _Triiing!_

"—Oh no, ma'am, I could never—"

 _Triiing!_

"Dora, do not interrupt me!. What I'm suggesting is far more appropriate than—" _Triiing! "_ Oh, for goodness sake!" She snatched up the telephone impatiently. "Yes?"

"Ginny? Ginny, oh, thank goodness!"

"Bill, is there something wrong?" She hugged the receiver to her ear, alarmed at Bill's distraught voice. "Are you sick? Are the children in good health?"

"I have been calling for hours and hours, but Mother and Father never picked up," Bill took a breath, and Ginny could hear the panic in his voice. "Oh, Ginny. It's Fleur. Fleur has gone missing."

Another pause. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

Bill groaned down the receiver loudly. "She left for her usual grocery rounds at nine o'clock yesterday morning; handing out bread and vegetables to the homeless. She told me she was going to visit Gabrielle straight afterwards, and when she didn't come back home, I thought Gabrielle had invited her to stay the night like she often does. I waited and waited today for her to come back, as Victoire and Dominique are asking for her, and then finally rang Gabrielle to find that Fleur never visited. She has no idea where Fleur is." Bill inhaled deeply, his breath shuddering. "Ginny, I'm so worried! What if… what if something…what will I do, Louis is only an infant, oh, Gods..."

Ginny finally found her voice. "Bill. Bill, calm down. I'm sure there's a simple solution to this. Perhaps she spent the night at a friend's house."

"No!" Bill took a deep breath. "After we were disinherited all of her old friends refused to see her. There is only you, Gabrielle and that Lovegood woman who speak to her now. And I already called Miss Lovegood. She hasn't seen Fleur for over a month."

 _Oh Gods… Fleur…_ Ginny forced her voice to remain calm for Bill's sake. "It will be alright, Bill. I'll consult with Mother and Father. They'll have to help you out, whether they like it or not. Why don't you come here with the children and we can figure it out from there?"

"I'll do that," Bill replied gratefully. "Thank you Gin. I'm very much obliged." The line clicked softly as he hung up the telephone.

Ginny slowly put down the receiver, her fingers shaking. Fleur Delacour had been one of the only people she had ever looked up to, and if something terrible had happened… she didn't even want to think about head swam, and she swayed dizzily as she stood up from the dresser.

"Miss? Miss?"

Suddenly, strong hands were guiding her to the armchair steadily, and Dora's voice was murmuring soothingly in her ear. "Can I get you something, Miss? Please don't mind my impoliteness, but you look positively dreadful."

"A glass of water, please, Dora."

* * *

"Just when we thought these murders were done with," muttered Superintendent Dean Thomas to Inspector Seamus Finnigan. The duo were the two main officers from the Whitechapel Division, who had been assigned to the Ripper murder case.

It was the 9th of November, 1888, and they were standing outside the residence supposed to belong to a girl by the name of Mary Jane Kelly. To their surprise however, Seamus had discovered that Mary never actually lived there, not since she and her family had fled the household when they could no longer pay the rent. It seemed that Mary had been sneaking into the house through a bathroom window left ajar so that she could entertain her clients, and the landlord had been none the wiser. Until this morning, that was.

Thomas Bower was standing beside the two police officers, his hands trembling as he chewed his pipe ferociously. He wasn't the landlord, but the landlord's assistant, and it was he who had discovered the grisly murder.

"I saw many gruesome things in the war," he said gruffly. "But never...never have I seen anything like that." He shuddered, and Dean offered him a sympathetic glance.

Mary's murder was by far the most gruesome of the Whitechapel murders so far, perhaps because it was the first one to occur privately in a house, instead of out on the street. Suffice is to say that it had been a gruesome sight.

Mary had been lying naked on the bed, her limbs spread-eagled, save one arm which rested across her body. She could have been mistaken for merely being asleep, had the duvet covered the horror that was her entire middle.

The whole surface of her chest and thighs had been hacked, her stomach a hollow hole. Her breasts had been torn off, her kidneys and liver removed, her intestines ripped from her body and her spleen discarded. The killer had also mutilated her face, carving her face into unrecognition.. Blood pooled around her body and soaked into the sheets, and the wooden floor was soaked red.

"The poor critter," mumbled Bower. "'Choo think she has family?"

"We will have to track them down sir. Would you happen to have any records which might assist us?"

"I'd have to ask Mr. Fletcher. He's the one who has all the records of the tenants." Bower chugged his pipe deeply, then burst out as if he couldn't help himself. "Who would do this to her? Who is this… this monster?"

Dean glanced sideways at his partner. This was dangerous territory.

"It's classified information sir," he said carefully.

"It's the Ripper, isn't it?" Bower muttered, looking at the two police officers darkly. "Do you think I don't read the newspaper? Think we don't all see those horrible letters he sends in?" The ex-soldier inhaled again deeply, blowing a cloud of smoke into Dean and Seamus's faces. "Well, I hope you find what you're looking for…"

Seamus coughed, shooting Bower a slightly dirty look. "You're welcome to get yourself home now, Mr. Bower. We'll call on you if we need you to issue a further statement?"

Bower nodded, and bade goodbye to the two police officers, leaving Dean and Seamus alone.

"Now that _that's_ sorted," Dean began, lowering his voice. "What are your thoughts on Mary Kelly and her... _true_ identity?"

"The boss gave me this after we found the body," Seamus replied, digging into his pocket. He pulled out a small, faded black and white photograph The woman in it was slim and pretty, with doe-like eyes and a heart-shaped face. Her long blonde hair cascaded down her back, combed away from her face. She was sitting in front of a man that must have been her husband; a lanky fellow with a scarred face and hair that hung limply past his ears.

"Well, it's hard to tell if it's really Mary," Dean said. "But…" he pointed at the girl's hair. "That white-blonde hair is unmistakable. Who is she?"

"Mary Jayne Kelly must have been her street name, if this is the woman in there," Seamus replied, jerking his head towards the house of horrors. "This is Fleur Delacour-Weasley."


End file.
